Ballerina To Assassin
by acrestedeagle
Summary: Amélie tells Lena the story of how she was captured and forced into becoming Widowmaker. (Originally posted on AO3)
1. Prologue

The sun was setting behind clouds, turning them dark orange. A pleasant breeze was passing through, breaking the summer heat. The only sounds were of some distant cars in the streets. It was a calm, peaceful day. Inside an ordinary apartment, a red-haired woman was looking at the balcony. The two women there hadn't asked her to leave them alone, but she wanted to leave them some space to talk one-on-one regardless. After all, with one being on the run and the other one a public figure, they didn't have the luxury of visiting each other often.

Emily took her eyes off them and looked nervously around the familiar room. It hadn't changed at all during the seconds she was looking outside. Same modern furniture. Same plastic plants near the balcony. Same chrono accelerator in the corner. Right. The fact that her wife could go back and forth in time, even if it was for a few seconds, seemed unreal to her even now.

With a sigh, she dropped on the couch. She was glad that her love got to see her elusive friend again, but she was also afraid. Afraid of Overwatch agents breaking the door. Afraid that someone had recognized her wife's friend.

The usually upbeat Brit was leaning against the balcony railing with a concerned look on her face.

"Amélie... You don't have to tell me."

The woman she was talking was taller, with waist length hair caught in a simple ponytail. Lena knew, that under the make-up, Amélie's skin still retained some of its old blue hue.

"No, I want to tell you," Amélie said, then sighed. "You are my best friend, Lena. You at least should know the full story."

"I know most of it..." Lena muttered. "You don't have to force yourself."

"You know what Overwatch knows. There is more to it."

Lena was still uncertain. It wasn't that she didn't think she could stomach it. She just didn't want Amélie to relive these memories as she was telling them.

It was Lena's turn to sigh.

"Alright, love. If you want to tell me, I'm listening."


	2. Fight

It had been three weeks since the explosion that levelled Gérard's base of operations in Rome. Overwatch had immediately flew him and his wife to Zürich, Switzerland, where Dr. Ziegler tended to him. He spent ten days in a coma, and ten more on the medical bed.

Gérard Lacroix had some attempts on his life before, but none were so close to killing him as this last one. He was caught in the explosion, then the entire building collapsed on him. It was a miracle that he was still alive. He knew it. And Amélie knew it. She wasn't too thrilled about it.

"What the fuck do you mean you're going back?!"

The usually composed dancer knew that half the building could hear her yelling like that, but she had stopped caring about what the Overwatch agents thought of her some time ago. Twenty-one days ago to be exact.

They were at their temporary quarters, a simple oval room, painted with the Overwatch colours. A double bed was on the far side of the room. Sitting on its light blue sheets, Gérard was trying his best to look her in the eyes. He was failing to do so. He was used to the warm, kind look Amélie usually had when they were together. Now, her hazel eyes were wet, sad and angry. He was finding it hard to look at her like that, knowing that he was the reason for her distress. Knowing that he wouldn't stop his work and that his beliefs would bring even more tears to the face of the person he loved more than anything.

"Ma chérie..."

"NO! No darlings! Answer me!"

"We had this conversation before, chérie."

"Yes! Yes, we had that conversation before! Fifteen times to be exact! Fifteen fucking times! " Fifteen assassination attempts. After each one, she was crying and he was forcing himself to ignore her pleas.

"And I'm going to keep asking you 'till you realize how stupid you sound! Answer me!"

"We are keeping the peace, Amélie. Overwatch is needed."

"And why are you needed in Overwatch?" She was asking questions she had been given answers to a long time ago. He drowned a sigh.

"I'm the head of the anti-terror division. Talon is just another small terrorist group, we'll be finished with them soon." Gérard was lying and he hated himself for doing so.

Talon, if that was even the name of the organization, wasn't like any of the other groups he had crushed. They didn't claim responsibility for their actions. They hadn't shared any goals or ideals with the public. They had a secret agenda. Not knowing their goals scared him. These guys weren't overzealous fanatics. They had plans, friends in high places and a lot of resources, judging by the number and scale of the attacks on his life.

"Bullshit! Even Reyes was worried! REYES! You know better than me how fearless the guy is!"

"Yes. Yes, I do but he is the one who called me now! And I have to go to his-"

"The fuck you don't!"

"Something went wrong during Gabriel's mission! I need-"

"Of course it fucking did!"

He went to answer but his eyes landed to the wall clock behind her. He needed to go now or he would miss his plane.

"Listen to me! I'll go there now. Then I'll come back and we can talk again. Let me finish this one thing and we'll talk."

She paused in the middle of a new barrage of accusations and arguments. Gérard had never left these kinds of conversations in the middle. And he was hinting that he would listen to her when he returned from Italy. Seeing her hesitate, Gérard pushed further.

"I promise, Amélie. I'll listen to you then."

His final lie. He always had listened to her. He understood that she was right in a way. Only, he was willing to sacrifice his personal peace for the sake of the world's. His work was too important to just drop. Gérard hoped that by the time he returned, Amélie would have calmed down.

"...Fine..." She murmured.

He smiled, grabbed his already packed suitcase, paused only to kiss her, then bolted out the door.

"I'll see you in France!"

His response was lifting his arm, letting her know he heard her.

* * *

A few hours later a white car was hovering at the entrance of the Swiss Headquarters. A tall, purple haired woman was putting a suitcase in the back seat. She was listening to a shorter, blonde woman in a white coat. Dr. Angela Ziegler was reassuring a shy Amélie that their yelling didn't bother anyone in the base.

"It's pretty common for spouses to react like you when their loved one is hurt on duty." Angela smiled. "I would be more concerned if you were apathetic about his injuries."

"I... Thank you for taking care of him."

"You are very welcome, Mrs Lacroix. Have a safe flight."

Angela left the car and started climbing the stairs to the base entrance. At the top, she turned to look back. The car started moving and she caught a glimpse of the driver. He must have been a new recruit because she hadn't seen him before.

She made a mental note to remind the recruitment officer that he had to send all new recruits to her for their first medical exam. Then she entered the base, heading to her lab.

Far in the distance, the car's windows turned black.


	3. Neural Reconditioning

Amélie woke up. She was tied to a pillar in the middle of a small, dark room. Chains were coming out of the pillar, around her torso, then back into the metal structure. Her hands were left free.

Her heart started racing and she felt like she couldn't breathe. In an attempt to compose herself, she tried to remember how she got here. All she could recall was thanking Dr. Ziegler, then entering the Overwatch car that was to take her to the airport. A few hundred meters away from the headquarters, a plastic membrane was dropped between her seat and the driver's. Her next memory was that of her waking up here.

Something started drilling her back, at the height of her chest. Amélie tried to scream but she wasn't able to form a sound. All of her being was focused on trying to withstand the pain and the shock. Whatever was hurting her kept digging slowly for a few seconds, then the pain stopped. As tears of relief started forming in her eyes, the thing in her back touched and scratched her nerves. This time she could scream. And she did until she run out of air. She gasped and screamed again. And again. And again.

\- The pain wasn't stopping so she didn't stop screaming. -

She couldn't tell how much time had passed since her torment had began when she heard the Voice. The Voice promised her relief from the pain. All she had to do was exactly what she was told to do. She agreed immediately. The pain didn't stop but there was a change in her room. A door opened at her right, and a man stepped inside. He was in red and black armour, paired with a similarly coloured helmet. On his left hand, he was carrying a small dog, along with a metal stick and a leash. On his right hand, he was carrying a pistol.

\- The pain didn't stop. -

A small hole appeared on the ground in front of her and the man placed the stick there. Using the leash, he tied the dog on it. Then he handed her the weapon. She mastered all of her willpower to ignore the pain, aimed it at him, and pressed the trigger. The gun didn't fire and the man simply left, leaving the dog in the room. The dog had brown fur and bones sticking out its sides, it must have been taken from the streets. Its presence numbed the pain a bit. It was looking at her, curious about her crying and involuntary spasms. Its eyes were kind. She almost managed to form a smile.

\- Pain. Didn't stop. -

The Voice ordered her to kill it. She refused, yelled and threw the gun away from her. The Voice repeated the command, adding that killing the dog would reduce her pain. Amélie kept screaming in protest as the man entered the room again. He picked up the gun and placed it in her hands again. She threw it. The Voice repeated It's command and the man went to pick up the gun again. This process kept repeating, each time the pain growing a bit more intense.

\- Pain. Stop it. -

She had passed out a few times by the time she gave in. A quiet whimper sounded from the animal as the bullet when through its head.

The pain stopped. It was such a euphoric feeling that she forgot her guilt and disgust towards herself immediately. The Voice applauded her and then the pain came back. The man entered the room again, carrying another pet on his hand.

\- Stop it. -

An explosion shook the prison cell. The long-haired woman was moved to the cell a few days ago, as they had no use keeping her in the old room. She was no longer tied anywhere and her back wound was cured. Her appearance was a bit leaner compared to when they dragged her in the building, but other than that, she looked fine. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, from where gunshots could be heard. Then a man screaming in pain and a heavy thud. A familiar voice pierced the ceiling.

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

A muted murmur followed and then another thud. For a minute, only some distant firefights could be heard in the distance. Then the deafening sound of another explosion covered everything else. Above and in front of her cell, the ceiling collapsed and before the debris hit the ground, a man in white and blue dropped through the hole.

Gérard was a mess. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, his hair grown much more than the length he usually let it and he now had a beard. His kind expression was gone, giving its place to a more angry and determined one. He saw her and his anger immediately gave place to relief.

"Amélie?" he asked like he couldn't believe it.

Widowmaker smiled as if she was relieved. Then forced tears to her eyes and rushed to the cell-door trying to reach him.

* * *

A few days later, the Overwatch agents were still searching the Talon base. In the bottom floor, deep underground, a room was found. In it, a huge pile of decomposing bodies of animals and humans was almost reaching the ceiling.


	4. The Kill

Gérard's frustration was growing by the minute. He and Amélie were back at her apartment in France. It was a big place, with even a room dedicated to ballet practice, all decorated in a simple yet elegant manner. Soft pink was the colour of choice on the walls, with some colourful paintings that broke the monotony. A big monitor was in the living room. In it, his commander was being an unreasonable ass. Or that's what Gérard thought. Commander Jack Morrison was thinking the same thing.

"Gérard, it's been two weeks. She needs to see Angela."

"She doesn't want to. Not yet. And she's fine. She's not wounded."

"For fuck's sake Gérard!" Jack lost his understanding look. "She was locked up in there for a month! A month! In that hell hole! You saw the images from the lower levels, even Reyes would have been shaken! She needs help."

"She is too scared to even leave the house! And I refuse to force her to do anything. She needs more time to recover mentally."

"She ain't recovering cowering in the bed! At least let Angela come to you and talk to her."

"No. She freaks out when other people are around now." Gérard gave a quick glance to the closed bedroom door behind him. He could hear Amélie pacing back and forth nervously . He put his military face on. "We've been through this conversation ten times already, Commander. If there isn't anything else, I'll take my leave."

Jack rolled his eyes and let a sigh slip through his lips.

"You wanna play the rank card, Gérard? Alright. Dr. Ziegler is coming to your place tomorrow. You will let her in and allow her to talk to your wife. Amélie Lacroix could have compromised Overwatch during her stay at the Talon base. Dr. Ziegler will check on that and her physical and mental health." Seeing Gérard getting ready to talk back, he continued. "That's an order, Agent."

The screen went black.

Gérard cursed quietly. He wasn't sure how he was feeling. He was mad about how Jack had forced this on them, but deep down, he knew that letting Amélie enclose herself in a bubble wasn't healthy. He sighed and moved to the bedroom.

* * *

Widowmaker was excited. The Voice had told her that today the pain would go away again. Her orders were to open a window and wait for more instructions. She almost ran to the window. When she opened it, the constant scratching inside her back stopped, giving her a few seconds without pain. The Voice congratulated her and the pain returned again.

* * *

Gérard wasn't sure if the light of the setting sun was playing tricks on him, but he could swear he saw Amélie smile as he entered the bedroom. She quickly ran from the window to his arms. They stayed like this for a while, then Gérard decided to break the silence.

"I see you opened the window."

"Oui." Her answer was a whisper. She tightened her hug.

"Ah, yes, the clean air of Paris will certainly help our health." He said with a dose of light-hearted sarcasm.

"It has gotten better since your days, you Neanderthal." Another whisper with a hind of playfulness.

Gérard choked. She hadn't smiled since her abduction and now she smiled and responded to his joke? Maybe Dr. Ziegler coming would be unnecessary.

"You are six months older than me, Ma chérie. If I'm a Neanderthal, so are you."

She pinched his back slightly as an answer.

"I heard you talking with Morrison."

"Yes." Gérard took a deep breath. "He ordered Dr. Ziegler to come by tomorrow. She is going to ask you a few questions, along with a physical and mental exam." He didn't know how she would take it. He kept her in his arms, brushing her long hair with his hand.

She stayed silent for a while.

"Very well." She whispered. "But let's go to bed for today."

* * *

Widowmaker slipped out of Gérard's embrace. He mumbled something in his sleep but she ignored it. The Voice had given her an order. A pistol, equipped with a silencer, was dropped through the window. Widowmaker grabbed it and aimed it at the man in the bed. Her hands paused for a second, then she aimed the gun at his head.

The Voice ordered and she obeyed, pulling the trigger.

And the white sheets of their bed turned red.

* * *

Amélie fell to the ground. She felt numb. The pain in her back was still there and the Voice was saying something but that didn't matter anymore. She was having trouble processing what she had just done. As she was laying on the floor, memories started passing through her mind like leaves in a wind storm.

She was on stage after one of her performances. As she did the final poses, her eyes caught a man in the front rows. She found it funny how enthusiastic he looked as he was clapping. A few days later they spent an evening at a cafe, at the outskirts of Paris. Then they were at a restaurant. At a cinema. On the quiet street where they had their first kiss. At home, snuggling on the couch, watching the clouds turn in all the different shades of red. In an old church, where they were married. At a trip to Sweden, where they got lost on a mountain. Their fights about his work. Their making up afterwards...

Her mind went blank.

* * *

Widowmaker woke up. Her cheeks were wet, she found that a bit curious. She got back on her feet and looked at the bed in front of her. An unknown man was lying in a blood-covered bed. A bullet had gone through his head. One look was enough to confirm that he was dead.

She calmly grabbed the gun from the floor and walked to the window. Soon after, a helicopter quietly hovered outside the building. A rope was thrown in the apartment. She tied it on her waist, and the helicopter moved away from the building, pulling her along.


	5. Training

In the Paris underground, deep below the Seine river, a man screamed in agony.

In an area at the size of a football stadium, a small city block was recreated in white plastic. In a narrow street, the man was sitting with his back on a wall. His hands were squeezing the area where his left ear used to be. An old rifle was on his right, but he had lost any will to fight. Even his years of mercenary work hadn't prepared him for this. The sniper he was forced to fight had managed to escape his sight, letting him only catch glimpses of his shadow. And judging by the frequency of the shots, the enemy was extremely fast at getting around the area. He tore his shirt and used the fabric to cover the red mess on his head.

As he waited for his end, his mind wandered to his brother. Far away from France, his brother had a small bar in Montpelier. He used to pass through there between his missions. The man wondered what his brother would think when he would learn of his death. They weren't very close, but they both had respected each other. Would he try to find his body? Could he even find-

"Coucou." A woman's voice broke his thoughts and he raised his head up. A lean woman was hanging, head first, from above. She had slightly blue skin, dark purple hair and hazel eyes. From her waist, a rope was going up to the top of the wall the man was laying on. Her combat armour was painted white, acting as a camouflage inside the structure. On her hands, a sniper rifle was pointing at his direction. She smiled, aimed the weapon between his eyes and fired.

* * *

Widowmaker's days were spent either training or on the medical bed, where she was subjected to daily experiments. After some weeks, her heart rate dropped and her skin started turning to a light blue.

The Voice and the pain in her back were gone. She still felt euphoric when she killed, so she was willing to stay at this facility as long as they provided her more prey. And that they did. Every day she had a new target to hunt, and other than a sniper rifle, her given tools were changing each day, testing what worked best for her.

Killing was what excited her now and she didn't care about anything else.


	6. Trigger

It was the night before New Year's Eve in Weymouth, England. An elderly man was sitting in his warm living room, trying to enjoy his dinner. Trying, because every minute or two he could hear what could only be described as footsteps on his roof. He quietly cursed whoever was using his roof as a running field. It was reminding him of the days he spent in his apartment in London. And the man on the apartment above his, that really loved to tap dance. He shivered at the memory and went back to his meal.

* * *

Lena jumped as far as she could. At the height of her jump, she blinked to the roof ahead. She stumbled a bit as she landed, but she kept running ahead, jumping above attic windows and solar panels. A quick spin of her pistols, a deep breath and she recalled back to where she was 3 seconds ago.

She was on the air, in the middle of a street. On the rooftop ahead of her, her opponent was waiting for her. Without wasting time to think, Lena blinked to her right. The sniper didn't waste her shot, waiting for Lena stay still for even a second. But that was like waiting for Earth to stop spinning because the Brit was unstoppable. When the chrono-accelerator run out of power, she run from cover to cover. Pausing only to unload her pistols in the direction of the purple haired figure.

Doors and windows turned into a blur as Lena sped up. If she only covered more distance than usual in these three seconds. Maybe then Widowmaker could miscalculate where she would appear.

One. She had two or three more charges for the recall action.

Two. This could work.

Three.

She didn't take the deep breath she usually took before activating her recall. Another precaution, in case the assassin had figured out the connection between the two.

Lena appeared behind Widowmaker without a sound. The assassin had frozen in place. Lena steeled herself and pressed the triggers. And Widowmaker was violently pulled to her left avoiding the barrage of bullets.

"Oh, come on now!" Lena protested and saw a glimpse of a smile in Widowmaker's face.

This was happening more often. When they first started fighting, the assassin only smiled the few times she was able to score her kill. Last two weeks, they were fighting every night. And each time, the smile on the assassin's lips was getting more and more frequent. No matter how hard Lena and Winston were trying to figure out who might be her target, they couldn't seem to find a candidate.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet puff and a lot of purple smoke. Lena, knowing how lethal the poison cloud could be, stayed far away and watched the assassin leave. She could try to track her after the smoke cleared but her experience in these fights told her that it would be futile. The assassin had her fill of excitement for the night. She would be back tomorrow.

Lena was now almost certain that Widowmaker was coming only to fight with her. The thought surprised her. So far, the assassin was always fixed on her target to kill them, not to spar with them. Lena was more surprised about her reaction to that realisation. She was glad? Widowmaker didn't have a target, so no one was in danger and even though she didn't want to admit it, their fights were fun. Their fighting styles being so different and then both of them being the best in their respective techniques, was forcing them to be pushed to their limits and to surpass them each night.

As she was waiting for transport back to London, she started thinking more about who Widowmaker was. Her real name was Amélie Lacroix. The wife of Gérard Lacroix. She was abducted by Talon during the shining days of Overwatch. Sometime later, she was retrieved in an operation led by Gérard and Reyes. Two weeks later she was abducted again from her home, and Gérard was found dead. Official Overwatch documents had no reason to suspect her as the killer then. Now, Lena was almost certain that Widowmaker had killed her husband. Something must have happened during her abduction. All this was too much for Lena to figure out now, she was tired and needed a bath. Maybe she could ask Winston tomorrow.

* * *

Widowmaker was freezing. She didn't care much about the discomfort but if this took a few more minutes she would be in danger of losing a toe or two. Luckily, she had done this many times before and she knew that their destination was very close. She adjusted her grip on her grapple hook. The thin rope was going all the way to the top of the automated transport that Lena was in.

A few minutes later, a lean figure was on the London roofs, stalking Tracer. Widowmaker had never followed Tracer before and there was no need to do so, Tracer always came to her trying to catch her. Widowmaker didn't know what sparked her curiosity about Tracer's non-combat life. Catching her off guard was pointless. She had no intention of killing her without a fight. If she did, Tracer would have been dead quite some time ago.

Tracer entered the next building and Widowmaker started scanning the windows for signs of movement. A minute later, she spotted a red-haired woman open the door and then Tracer coming in. Tracer gave the woman a hug, said something and kissed her. Afterwards, she took off her chrono-accelerator and went into the bathroom. But Widowmaker had stopped paying attention after she saw the kiss.

Something was wrong. Her heart rate was going up, and a man's face started appearing in her mind. She dropped her weapon to the side and sat beside it. More and more memories of that man started appearing. And with them, the memories of how she felt when she was close to him.

She grabbed her head with her hands. Tears started flowing and she wasn't sure why. Tears on a lonely rooftop wouldn't get her closer to a kill. So why the tears?

More memories. Memories of them together. His laugh during her poor attempts at cracking a joke. Her excitement and joy when she was with him. How the world seemingly stopped during their first kiss and all the ones that came after it.

Her breathing became heavy and she was having trouble drawing breaths.

A wedding. Her wedding. Their wedding. Their honeymoon. Her acceptance into the Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris. His acceptance in Overwatch, a new worldwide organisation that was striving to bring peace to a war-torn world.

Fear as assassins started coming after him. A blown up building. Her abduction. The neural reconditioning. Her killing him.

Killing Gérard.

Amélie collapsed on the roof and she cried. For Gérard, for her, for her victims and for what their lives should have been.

* * *

"Sombra."

"Yes, araña?"

"Get me transport to Paris."

"Will do." The voice from the purple helmet went quiet for a bit. "Are you alright?"

Amélie didn't answer for some time. She was still laying on the roof, the cold air almost freezing the lines of tears she didn't wipe yet. She was not alright.

"Just get me the transport for now."

"It's on its way... Araña? Give me a call when you do what-is-that-you-want-to-do in Paris."

"Oui."

* * *

First day of the new year. Batignolles Cemetery, Paris. In the sea of snow-covered graves, a single rose was left in front of one of them. The name on the plague was Gérard Lacroix, and his wife had spent the night with him.


	7. Epilogue

The night had settled in London. Curfew was in effect, the only things moving in the streets were the Overwatch patrol cars. Amélie could almost taste the coming rain in the air. Ever since she got her feelings back, she focused more and more on simple pleasant feelings.

"And you know the rest." She turned to Lena, who was leaning on the railing near her.

Lena didn't know what to say. How does someone react to her friend telling her that she was abducted, tortured into becoming a killing machine and then forced to kill her own husband? She didn't know what to do, so, as tears started flowing from her eyes, Lena just gave Amélie a hug. She squeezed, trying to convey what she felt without words. To say how awful she felt about Amélie's past, how angry she was towards Talon, and how she wanted to be able to fully rewind time to a time before all this.

When Lena let Amélie go, she noticed that the other woman had a slight smile on her lips.

"What?" Lena was confused.

"Nothing. Just... Thank you. For everything."

Lena was still confused. And sad. And angry. There were a lot of different feelings inside her right now and she didn't know how to deal with that. So she stayed confused as Amélie led her back into the apartment, where Emily had fallen asleep on the couch.

* * *

A distant thunder shocked the quiet home and Emily was up in a heartbeat. The next second she was holding a small pistol that she pulled from below the couch, and was aiming it at the door.

Lena ran to her and placed her hand on Emily's trembling shoulder.

"It's alright, Em. It was just thunder. Nothing more."

The red-head fell on Lena's arms.

"I thought they learned she was here and-"

"They didn't. Don't worry, Amélie wouldn't have come here if she was followed."

Emily let a tired sigh and turned to Amélie.

"Sorry... I didn't mean to freak out like that."

"It's OK. I imagine my presence here can be nerve-racking."

"Naw, you're only the most wanted woman on the planet, why would that be any cause for concern?" Lena said sarcastically. It wasn't meant with ill intent, Amélie knew that both of them would let her stay with them forever if she needed to. She smiled.

"Second most wanted. But speaking about the most wanted woman on the planet... She has gifts for you." Amélie said and reached to her back pocket. From there she pulled two simple earrings. They were clip on, each had two small, white balls with a purple line to connect them together. As the, still hugging, pair leaned in to see better, Amélie continued.

"It's one for each. There are voice-activated communication devices. If you ever want to contact us, just bring it near your mouth and say: 'Call Sombra' or 'Call Amélie' and it will activate."

Another thunder strike, closer this time. And a commanding female voice was heard from the earring on Amélie's ear.

"Amélie, get your purple ass back on the ship, now. The thunder strike was right next to us. Sombra says our cloaking is messed up."

"On my way, Eli." Amélie responded and regretted it immediately.

Lena had stopped in the middle of wearing her earring and her mouth was slowly forming a mischievous smile.

"Eli? As in Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe?"

"Oui..." Amélie started slowly creeping towards the balcony doors. Emily was trying to hold her laughter and Lena was approaching Amélie.

"Ashe was just Ashe to you last time I saw you." Lena was getting closer, her head slightly lowered, like a cat getting ready to catch a mouse. In this case, what Lena was after was information.

"Yes. Well... We grew closer..?" Amélie was trying to avoid an interrogation. She was a few steps away from the doors now.

"How close?"

"V... Very close... Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to run." Amélie tried to open the balcony door, but Lena was way too fast. She run in front of her and looked up expectantly.

"I _need_ details."

"When we meet again... Oh, quit the puppy eyes, Lena. You know I have to go. Now." Amélie tried to be serious, even though she was trying to hold back her laughter at Lena's over the top reaction. Lena stopped her silly act reluctantly.

"I know." she stepped on the side, letting Amélie open the doors. The sound and smell of the rain filled the apartment.

"Bye Amélie! Thank Sombra for us, yea?" Emily said as she was putting the gun back into it's hiding place.

"I will. Bye." Amélie stepped outside. The rain was still light in this part of the town, but it was picking up by the second.

An Overwatch transport was hovering at the height of the balcony. A purple skull was painted over the Overwatch logo. Its side door opened and a white-haired woman appeared, her right hand resting a rifle on her shoulder.

"You plan on stayin' for tea n' biscuits? There're twenty fucking drones on their way here. Move it honeybunch!"

"Au revoir." Amélie quickly said to Lena and climbed on the railing. The transport hovered as close as it could and Amélie jumped towards it. She fell onto Ashe with a force that would have dropped them on the floor if it wasn't for Bob. The omnic was fast enough to stop their fall, placing his hands on Ashe's back. He gently welcomed Amélie as Ashe was trying to act annoyed.

"Took you long enough!" Sombra yelled from the pilot's seat.

The transport door was closing when they all heard Lena yelling.

"Be happy, love!"


End file.
